 Hundred foot trees shaded us at Palmer Square Park, and though we were in the heart of a vast city, I felt closer to nature there than I have yet at any TDF-city venue. Families from down the street as well as avid New Belgium groupies flocked to the park on Saturday for the festivities. The brightness of the sun, the gold of the beer, the rainbow of bikes, and the green of the grass made Chicago's carnival all we dreamt it would be. One of the first people I talked to, a volunteer at West Town Bikes with a luxurious gray handlebar mustache, gave me an elaborate history lesson about Chicago. To paraphrase and concentrate, Chicago was a port where canoes and boats could dock after traversing through Canada and the Great Lakes, all the way from the Atlantic. There is just about a mile stretch of land that Native American traders or travellers would have to cross with their boats to get to the Chicago river which ran into the Missisippi, which in turn would take you all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. This route, after being discovered by the French and other settlers, became very popular and the city of Chicago began to form. If you look at a map of the city, which many of us did at the Tour de Fatlas station, submerged under the perfect rectangular grid of city streets one can see long diagonal roads all radiating out from the port in Lake Michigan. These ancient roads were once Native American trails that all lead to and from the port and still exist today. How wonderful it is that you can ride your bike as the crow flies along a road with so much history! Kris, Anna, and I all bounced around like organ grinder monkeys until our voices were black and blue. Anna definitely takes the cake for the foxiest book hawker breaking records all over and sending tons of Chicagoans home with love-bound copies of our splendid publications. Kris rode the water-bike with the greatest of ease, a regular Odin atop his chariot, and engaged takers in lofty conversations. I met many Edward Abbey enthusiasts and dispensed our literary homage to him into grateful hands. And never have we all had such long and sober conversations about shit. Well done, Gene Logsdon, you really set us up this time. The Matterhorn: Tour de Fat edition went like hotcakes and I learned the derivation of the "Boneshaker" moniker from our own dear Kris Hite.
West Town Bikes, a community bike shop, had the most impressive volunteer presence I've seen yet in my short life as a Tour de Fathead. There were kids of all ages and adults who turned out to work at the event that benefitted them directly. It is amazing to see how the energy of a community, when given a medium and direction, can truly rock the block. According to some West Town Bikes experts there are trails that surreptitiously weave around the city, places to fish all over, and plenty of green spaces like the one we were in. In addition to bike trails, Chicago has one of the best public transportation systems comprised of subways, elevated trains, buses, and commuter trains that can take you outside the city for a more outdoorsy bi-rotating stroll. Chicago does seem like one of the best places to go carless, although not for the faint of heart. The car-for-bike traders from the previous two years were in attendance, quite a feat for such a cold and windy place. I got my high-five for posterity (I'm collecting a personal high-five from each car-for-bike trader on this trip since I don't want postcards or shotglasses!). I can imagine the carless hooligans riding along the old streets of this Polish neighborhood admiring the beautiful old architecture. All around Logan Square, Bucktown, and surrounding areas I saw some of the loveliest old homes, buildings that had obviously been loved long and kept up. Way to go, Chicago! Your city is the first place we've been to so far that felt historic, full of stories old and new, a living place in flux that remembers its past like the rings of a growing tree.
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